


Anchor Me

by brilliantdreams



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Erik likes touching, First Class peaceful mansion times, I'm pretty sure, M/M, reference to Charles' upbringing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:26:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9193022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilliantdreams/pseuds/brilliantdreams
Summary: Charles is awake in the kitchen having telepathy troubles when Erik finds him. Cuddling ensues.





	

 

When Erik appeared in the doorway he already knew Charles was there. The lights were off and they could barely see one another in the dark of the 3am kitchen but Charles had felt Erik’s mind wake and had known he was coming. And Erik, Charles realised, must have felt him in the kitchen by the watch he’d forgotten to take off. 

“Can’t sleep?” asked Erik, entering the room and brushing past Charles on his way to the fridge. His demeanour was cool, his stride across the floor quick and confident, but Charles could feel the underlying press of concern on his own mind as it rolled off Erik. The fridge leaked dank blue light over the countertop that Charles’ elbows and long-gone-cold tea rested upon.

“Something like that,” said Charles wearily as Erik sloshed the milk in its carton, finding it almost empty.

“Kids,” he grumbled under his breath and Charles took a moment away from his buzzing headache to lift his lips in a small smile. 

Since coming to live in the mansion with their gaggle of young friends, it was rather like living in a house with too many children who cared nothing for replenishing resources when they finished them. They tore through the milk, bread and orange juice and then waiting expectantly for ‘one of the adults’ to refill the supplies with a flippant—“we’re out of milk” or “we’ve finished all the bread again”; like it had been a team effort. Charles had, on more than one occasion, spoken the words “water is free you know!”.

Though when he was honest, he had to say he quite liked having them all in the mansion.

But tonight, he was not feeling so fond. His head was full of white noise and channels that kept constantly changing as his telepathy bounced back and forth between the minds of the children sleeping all over the house. In the evenings, Charles methodically reinforced all the mental walls he kept to try and prevent this from happening, but every once in awhile, he couldn’t keep everything out. And sometimes, it was easier to lie back and let the current, like a rip in the ocean, drag you out, rather than fight and struggle and have it pull you under all together. Which was what Charles was doing now. He would swim back to shore in the morning. That being said, weathering the storm was not so easily done. He wasn’t fighting but he still had to float.

Charles was working to keep his mind closed enough to maintain his sanity and to stop himself from falling into the others’ dreams entirely. A feat which had robbed him of all sleep and much of his ability to do anything other than sit. It felt like his skin had been ripped away, leaving all his nerve ends raw, except inside his head. His physical body was almost entirely numb. The mental load was so great that it had pretty much shut down his other senses, his telepathy greedily sucking all his brainpower into the static feedback loop. When he’d made the tea on the counter he hadn’t realised the cup was burning him until he’d saw, rather than felt, that his hands were bright red. Then he’d let it go cold altogether.

Erik, having settled for juice, padded over to Charles and rested a hip against the counter. He was drinking directly from the bottle but Charles didn’t have the time to even wrinkle his nose before Erik’s concern splashed over him like a wave as he took Charles in.

“Erik, don’t,” he said shortly and wiped his hand over his face as though he’d actually been wet. Erik finished his swig, capped the bottle, and set it down.

“What’s wrong with you?” The man asked, as blunt as ever. Charles felt a sickening lurch of rage which was probably more Alex’s current dream than it was Charles. He swallowed it quickly. 

“Can’t sleep, told you,” Charles snapped instead, but then sighed deeply, apologetically. “I just…” he began, gesturing to his head, and then stopped immediately when he heard his voice crack. “Shit...” He cursed softly and tried to steady his breathing, but Erik taking a worried step closer wasn’t helping Charles keep his cool. 

“Are the children keeping you awake?” Erik’s voice was careful. All Charles could do was nod and then shove his balled up fists against his eyes, trying and failing by the way his eyelashes stuck together, to ward back the dangerous rise of emotion in his throat. He was like an overwhelmed toddler as he sniffled and ground his knuckles into his brow bone, feeling his cheeks get sticky. He felt intensely bad that Erik had to see him like this. He was about to tell the other man that he ought to get back to bed when he heard an exasperated “Oh, Charles”, and then Erik was sliding an arm around his shoulder and tugging him into a one arm embrace.

The physical contact was like a sensory reboot. He felt Erik surge to the forefront on his mind and he audibly gasped at the feeling of Erik’s sweater rubbing against his cheek, his grip on Charles’ shoulder so hot and firm and  _ there  _ that he very nearly moaned under his breath at the relief of feeling anchored to the world again. The buzzing in his head eased back immediately, the touching making Erik much more prominent in his mind than Raven’s bad dream about being pursued by angry unicorns.

With much less hesitation than he should have displayed, Charles wrapped his arms around Erik’s middle and tried hard to resist the urge to draw him from his side to between his splayed legs on the bar stool to ease the twisted angle he was at.

It felt so good and Charles was so tired; his head so sore and throat aching with the effort to swallow his sour frustration that, to his own horror, he began to sob rather abruptly into the other man’s chest. Charles was so embarrassed, but it felt good to let out some of the intensity that was coming in. Erik simply brought his other arm up to lay his broad palm over the back of Charles’ head. The other man didn’t even tense as Charles pressed into him and through the horrible sobbing Charles supposed that though Erik was a hard and stoic man, he probably hadn’t been such as a child. 

Before the horrors of his past, Erik had been loved and adored and during his fundamental period of learning, he’d been cuddled and kissed and received all manner of tactile comfort. Learned it all at the hands of loving parents. It was entirely possible that Erik was much more familiar with this sort of thing than Charles was. As a child, he’d not had much experience with being this close to, or touching other people at all. He’d been nannied not mothered, seen and not heard. 

Of course, since meeting Raven and later leaving home, Charles had likely had more contact with other living beings than Erik had in these past years, but Charles had had to learn on his own how these things worked.  How to let people touch him without flinching, how best to soothe a heartbroken friend. He relished them now; laying a hand on a shoulder, hugging Raven hello when he’d been gone all day. But originally, it had never been an automatic, natural reaction as it appeared to be for Erik.

By this point, Charles had managed to quiet his sudden sobbing. He was breathing heavy and his head still ached but he felt a little better and Erik’s scent was grounding as he drew it in. Simple body soap and something deep and woody. Cedar maybe. Fingers were making little twisters in the downy hair at the back of his neck. Charles wondered if Erik even knew he was doing it.

“Is this what it’s like to be you?” asked Erik suddenly and Charles realised with a jolt of shock that the physical contact had done more than just distract him. He was projecting, albeit it must be only a tiny amount given Erik’s calm, but he could feel it now; Erik’s consciousness curled up next to his like a big cat. Charles immediately began to pull away, to stop what he was doing but Erik tightened his grip and shushed him like he was a spooked animal until he stilled against his chest again. Charles was breathing shakily, his hands holding the air around Erik’s waist; too afraid to touch him more than he was. 

“Is it?” asked Erik again after a moment, thumb absently soothing across Charles’ shoulder. Charles swallowed and shook his head jerkily into Erik’s sweater. 

No. 

Because Charles was holding back all that he could.

“Is it always like this?” Another no. Just tonight. 

Charles felt the gesture of Erik frowning in his mind.

“It’s like there are bees in my head,” he said plainly and Charles huffed a pained laugh.

“It is certainly busy…” He said softly, sniffing. 

“Is there anything I can do?” asked Erik and Charles felt weak with the affection that swelled inside him. Despite  _ knowing _ what to say and do, Erik was not obliged to offer anything to anyone. And Charles suspected, with the way he cooly blew off the younger mutants, with how he openly ignored anyone not deemed worth his time, that he didn’t offer very often.

“What you’re doing is helping,” replied Charles, his tone grateful and embarrassed in the same breath. “Physical contact helps to ground me.”

“Ground you?” Erik’s hand squeezed his shoulder. 

“When I’m like this, my telepathy becomes so demanding that I lose myself a bit.”

“You were unusually short with me just now.” 

“It’s difficult to remain pleasant when you can’t feel your toes, my friend.” Charles hands carefully found Erik’s waist again. 

“What’s wrong with your toes?” asked Erik, shifting a little as he glanced down at Charles’ feet, as though checking they were still there. Charles chuckled.

“It’s similar to being so cold you get numb because your body is redirecting your blood to keep your vital organs working; toes and fingers aren’t a priority.” Erik started at this so Charles quickly added, “Except at the moment, my telepathy isn’t redirecting my blood, it’s just redirecting my brainpower.” Erik settled. 

“So you have mental frostbite?”

“Essentially, yes. Though to be perfectly honest, my toes are the least of my worries. It’s my head and all the thoughts that I can usually keep out… I’m just… tired I suppose.”

“Is this helping that too?” Erik’s thumb was rubbing a circle behind his ear. 

“Yes, it is...” 

They remained that way for how long, Charles wasn’t sure. It could have been a minute or an hour. He had no idea what time it was. He found he’d turned on his bar stool to better bury himself in Erik’s chest at some point, but there was little more important to him than Erik’s hands and his scent stirring a fog over his staticy mind. The other man had taken to rubbing Charles’ back and his arms, his neck, anywhere he could smooth with his hands without jostling Charles too much. Rubbing feeling back into his frost bitten limbs. Charles could feel Erik’s concentration on the task pull his own mind close and keep his attention on the lovely sweeping circles between his shoulder blades. 

“You feel thin,” said Erik after however long. His voice was unusually soft.  _ For my sake _ , Charles realised, mind slow. His breathing had turned long and sleepy. His arms were slung loosely about Erik’s hips. He didn’t know what Raven was dreaming about anymore. “I think you’re pushing yourself too hard. We should talk to McCoy about adjusting Cerebro,” Erik was saying.

“I didn’t know you were aware of my weight...” 

Charles hoped there wasn’t a ‘you need to be at your best, Charles’ or a ‘your impairment will hinder my mission’ implied in Erik’s concern. He hoped it was just…

“I’m aware of most things about you.”

Charles nodded into Erik’s chest and felt affection wash away those fleeting worries as Erik’s hand returned to his hair. 

“Can you feel your toes again?”

Another nod.

“...I’m sorry it has to be like this for you, Charles…”

“M’too…” mumbled Charles, honest and sleepy. Erik’s grip on him tightened.

“You’ll be alright, Charles.”

“Mmmm…”

They might have sat there for another hour but for Charles, it felt immediate. Erik’s fingers restarted the twisters in his hair and he felt himself slip, all at once, without really meaning to, with no regard for the fact he was sat on a bar stool, into a long awaited, inky unconsciousness.

 

\----

 

Charles woke in his own bed, surrounded by thick duvets and warm hush. He was dream heavy and still tired but he’d slept deeply and well. He curled into the blankets, savouring the dregs of sleep and letting himself adjust slowly to being awake.

It had to be late in the day because Charles could hear a hustle and bustle of bodies downstairs. Lunch time perhaps. He wasn’t sure though because, thankfully, no one was screaming their thoughts at him anymore. The other mutants minds felt familiar and easy at the edges of his own; they were much quieter in waking, and his walls were built up enough to keep them where he wanted them.

He was wearing the pajamas he’d had on in the kitchen but, rolling over, he saw his watch was now in its place on his bedside dresser. A quick pang of fresh embarrassment sounded in his body like a struck bell as he blinked into the realisation that Erik must have carried him to bed. It was quickly softened by the image of the other man gently removing his watch though; his impressive mutation working the small metal fastening open as he settled Charles into bed, and then careful fingers laying the piece on the dresser. 

Moving to sit up, Charles felt something shift against his leg. Pushing back the sheets, he found himself with plush handfuls of the sweater Erik had been wearing in the kitchen.

This must have been what kept him so deeply asleep; Erik’s scent on the material and his leftover body heat. Bringing it to his face, Charles nodded to himself, smiling. It smelled woody and clean and was warm from the bed. Erik must have taken it off and let Charles keep it with him. Poor Erik; he’d only gotten up for some milk. Charles hoped he hadn’t been cold on his way back to his room. 

Or? The other side of the bed was messy, the sheet rumpled and the duvet untucked. Charles smoothed his hand over it thoughtfully, rubbing a thumb into the knit of the sweater absently. He usually kept nicely to his side of the bed however he might have moved around more after such a rough night. Though he’d also woken curled on his side in the opposite direction of his usual preference. As though he may have been kept there by the presence of another body, fitted against him like a punctuation mark. 

He wasn’t sure. He certainly wouldn’t have minded, if he were honest. 

Nevertheless, the sweater in his lap and the mystery of the messied bed bed started a warm spot in Charles’ chest and an aching tenderness for the other man as he cast his telepathy quietly through the house and let it wander alongside Erik, unnoticed as he set the kettle to boil in the kitchen downstairs. He felt Erik’s attention to the younger mutants, cataloguing their progress and conditions, and his awareness of Charles upstairs. 

“Small thoughts, everyone,” Erik reminded.

Charles smiled.

At first glance Erik was cool and stoic, calculating, obsessive. And then further in, he was clever, and witty with a dark sense of humour and brutal honesty. But he was also kind and gentle. Something Charles had glimpsed in Erik’s childhood memories. Something Charles was sure Erik would try to keep well concealed if he knew how utterly things like the removal of watches betrayed him.

Charles did not hope for a repeat of the last night any time soon; the head troubles and abrupt, embarrassing sobbing, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued by this soft side of Erik. Now that he was free to think about it sans the dilapidating headache, Erik’s actions were hopelessly endearing, so much so that Charles wanted to tell someone about it immediately, but it was also an almost secret part of Erik that he wanted to keep tucked away in bed with him.  It had started something unexpected but wonderful bubbling in his chest.

Telepathy still clinging to Erik, Charles watched Raven pour tea while the other children chatted amongst themselves in the midst of a sandwich making station. Sean called Erik ‘dad’ sarcastically when Erik sloshed the empty milk carton in front of them impatiently, and Hank was smacking Alex’s meddling hands away from the energy focussing contraption on Alex’s suit. 

Charles huffed a laugh and swung his legs out of bed. 

It certainly was busy. 

  
  



End file.
